


Dirthara

by vivisextion



Series: Ar lath'an: This Place of Love [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anal Sex, Antivan Massage Skills, Fingering, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Fluff, Humour, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 11:15:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18991558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivisextion/pseuds/vivisextion
Summary: Zevran begins to realise knockin' boots ain't so easy when you also care about the person in them. Especially if you'd been sent to kill them.aka Zevran has issues with intimacy but he's trying, dammit.





	Dirthara

**Author's Note:**

> dirthara: learn
> 
> “I would open you up with my fingers, alongside my tongue. To prepare you for my cock, which I so dearly want to sink inside you, my Warden – ah! – I bet you feel so heavenly, so tight around me! I would have you crying my name, over and over as I fucked you, until you begged so sweetly for your release.”
> 
> Zevran's about to make good on his promise.

It had to be some sort of universal law, that whenever you got into a bath, someone had to inevitably come along and interrupt it.

Theron had earned this soak in the bathtub, his long, silver hair tied back with a length of silk rope to keep it out of the way. The bath was large enough for him to submerge himself completely, like a tiny lake that smelled like citrus oils. His feet could not touch the other end of the tub - clearly it was made for much bigger _shem_ than he. Such needless luxury. He would have to thank Alistair for having friends in high places.

But he deserved it, damn it. It had been a trying day, with constant attacks of brigands in the back alleys of Denerim. He was back in Arl Eamon’s estate, in his own private room. Away from the hubbub of the market, away from the squabbling of his companions, and away from the burdens of being a Grey Warden. He was trying to wash the day away with the perfumed hot water, poured by the arl’s elf servants. That had made him wildly uncomfortable, so soon after seeing his people wild and free in the Brecilian Forest, bowing to no master. That clan had their own set of problems, but shackled by _shemlen_ or wallowing in alienages was not one of them.

He had just been pondering the fates of city elves, when there had been a knock at his door. Theron was inclined to ignore it, but it had been quite a polite knock, with no impatient follow-up banging. With a heavy sigh, he climbed out of the tub (with some difficulty), toweling off hastily.

He was still pulling on the dressing gown the elf servant had left him when he tugged the door open, only to come face to face with a cheerful Antivan assassin. Theron could not help but smile at the other elf, especially since he had come bearing refreshments.

“I thought you might like something to eat, my dear Warden, since you were not at dinner.” Zevran held up a tray of fruit, bread and cheese. There was even a cup of tea, thank _Sylaise_.

“Oh!” Theron blinked in surprise. He’d forgotten the time, lying in the bath, lost in thought. “Thank you.”

Zevran stepped with light feet into the Warden’s room. He set the tray down on the nearest table, gazing around the lavish room, though it was the opulent four-poster bed that caught his attention the most. “You know, I could get used to this. The last time I came to Denerim, I stayed at an inn so filthy the bedbugs had fleas.” Then he turned to Warden, handing him the cup of tea. “Tsk. You look so tired, my dear. It is all this constant walking and fighting.”

“I feel much improved after a bath,” Theron realised. The aches and pains of battle had been soothed by the hot water. The Dalish elf looked pensive, as he cupped his hands around the hot mug and sipped. “Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever soaked in a tub like that before.”

“Really?” The other elf’s eyebrows crept up his forehead in surprise. “Oh, you are missing out. They even make bathtubs big enough for two.”

Theron rolled his eyes, but he was still not immune to the Antivan’s charms. His cheeks were flushed pink, and not from the heat of the bath. He busied himself with picking at the hem of his dressing gown, pleasingly soft under his fingers. It was maroon with gold trim, something the arl’s estate provided all their guests. He had never felt silk against his bare body like this before. It was quite delicious.

“Hot, perfumed baths, and silk dressing gowns,” muttered the Warden. “Whatever will the _shem_ think of next.”

“It suits you,” said the assassin, casting an appreciative eye over him. The silk hugged the Warden’s form beautifully, loose around the shoulders, showing off his long neck and pretty collarbones. Zevran gave silent thanks to the arl and his riches.

“And a real bed, too.” The Dalish elf picked up a pear, taking a bite out of it. To Zevran, even that was mesmerising to watch. “I think after a solid night of sleep, I might be restored enough to take on the archdemon,” he mumbled through a mouthful of fruit.

“It is rare that any of us get to sleep on a bed. And such a beautiful man like yourself should never sleep alone.” Zevran’s smile was downright salacious now as he tutted.

Theron turned to face his companion with a raised eyebrow. “And what do you suggest I do about that?”

“Invite a handsome, Antivan rogue to join you?” Zevran offered helpfully, even as his eyes twinkled with mischief.

The corner of Theron’s lips quirked up. “A fine suggestion. Do you know where I can find one?”

“You wound me, ser.” The assassin clutched a hand to his chest, but laughed. “I think I know what you need. My thought is this: We retire to your bed, and I show you the sort of massage skills that one only learns growing up in an Antivan whorehouse.”

Tempting. Theron crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” The Antivan smiled, and it was almost fond, if it hadn’t been so wolfish. “Believe me, the privilege of running my oiled hands over your naked body is reward enough for me.”

How the rogue could say such things with a straight face, Theron would never know. “That… sounds good to me,” he admitted, as his cheeks tinged further with red.

“A willing victim it is.” Zevran laughed. “And if I might ask, if the opportunity to proceed past the massage should present itself...?”

“Something tells me not a lot of sleeping would occur,” the Warden said, both cynical and amused.

The assassin drew nearer, and with his fingertips, stroked the loose strands of the Warden’s silky hair away from his face. In a low, sultry tone, he murmured beside the archer’s pointed ear, “I promise you, my dear Warden, after I am done, you will have the best night’s sleep of your life.”

The Dalish elf looked up into the Antivan’s warm, honey-coloured eyes. It would have been impossible to say no. He tried and failed to prevent a smile breaking across his face, despite himself. Zevran smirked, saying nothing, but taking the other rogue’s hand in his and walking backwards toward the bed.

“Why do I find it so hard to say no to you?” sighed Theron, as he let himself be led.

“I _am_ quite the charmer.” Zevran grinned back at him, falling back onto the softest mattress they’d encountered in a long time. “There are few that can resist my wiles.”

“I don’t doubt that,” the archer muttered darkly, even as he flopped onto the bed. The bed was large enough that they could both sprawl out on it without touching each other.

“Now, if you will disrobe, I can begin.”

The Warden was about to untie the sash of his dressing gown, ready to strip off entirely. The Antivan smirked, one eyebrow raised.   

“I meant just to the waist, but if you are so eager, who am I to stop you?”

“Oh, hush.” Theron raised a hand just to wave it dismissively in the assassin’s direction, before he shrugged off the dressing gown. Bare from the waist up, he sagged back onto the bed, face buried in a pillow. He could have drifted off right there, but then he felt the mattress dip on either side of his hips, as Zevran came to straddle him. The sound of a bottle uncorking made him look up in curiosity, and he saw Zevran rubbing something between his hands. It smelled like an exotic confectionery.

“Antivan massage oil,” his companion explained. “It is spiced, to ah… warm the flesh.” That smirk hadn’t left his face.

“Where did you get that from?”

“All the way from Antiva.” The assassin dug the heels of his oiled hands into the Warden’s tight, knotted shoulders. The bath had taken care of some, but not all of the tension, especially in the upper back. The archer tended to carry all the strain there, from constant handling of his bow. “I have been saving it for a special occasion, of course.”

“And today is a special occasion?” Theron’s skeptical tone was marred by the sudden moan of relief (and other things) forced out of him, as those skilled hands began to knead away the stress in his muscles. A pleasant, invigorating warmth seeped into them as well, from the spiced oil, relaxing him even further. He sighed happily.

Zevran still had it, that magic touch, after all these years. He laughed. “We are alive, are we not?”

“Too true,” conceded the Dalish elf. “Oh, _Mythal’enansal_ , that’s good.”

It must be, if the Warden was resorting to his native tongue. “The knowledge of anatomy has so many useful applications,” Zevran informed him, with a sly grin that faded fast.

He gazed down at the painted elf’s back, where the bold lines of a grand, Dalish oak had been carved into his skin, just like the blood writing of his people on his face. Zevran found his hands drawing up its trunk, following his spine, and across its branches, letting his practiced fingers work away at the other elf’s neck.

How easy would it be to sink a dagger between the Warden’s cervical vertebrae, right now? To do what he had been sent here to do? If Zevran did it right, it would sever his spinal cord, leaving Warden paralysed, unable to call any of his other companions for help.

And then this lovely dream would end. His adventure fighting back the Blight’s ravages with this impossible Dalish elf and his merry band of misfits would be over. Zevran would return home to roost, to a city where he could call no one a friend, ready to stick his daggers into the next faceless targets.

There were only two Wardens, and so many Crows.

And yet...

“I don’t think I’ve ever been pampered like this,” mused the archer. It snapped Zevran out of his reverie. He gave Theron a wistful smile the other could not see.

“More’s the pity, dear Warden. Men and women should be worshipping at your feet, catering to your every need.”

The Dalish elf snorted. “The women would be wasting their time.”

Zevran began to laugh so hard that he nearly fell off the Warden’s back, hands clutching at his shoulderblades for purchase. No one could make him laugh like Theron.

With a final giggle, he said, “Well, it’s a good thing I am not a woman, in that case.”

Zevran worked deep, concentric circles into Theron’s lower back now, and the groans coming from his Warden were long and satisfied. His hands knew how to do this, tracing instinctual patterns even as his mind wandered.

Zevran recognised this familiar sensation, inchoate but definitely burgeoning, a sinking feeling in his chest as he did so. It'd been like that last time, as well. This was no mere pleasant diversion any more. The Warden meant more to him than just rolls in the hay between darkspawn hordes. More than protection from the Crows amongst powerful friends. More than giving his life new purpose, when all he had wanted was to throw himself on the other elf’s sword.

Oh, no.

Zevran’s hands stilled for several seconds too long. And Theron, ever the keen archer, was nothing if not observant.

“What’s wrong?”

Theron had taught him the art of not keeping his secrets. It had been hard, so against his nature, but he had learned it was better not to.

“You... astound me sometimes, my dear Warden.”

Theron lifted and cocked his head to one side, chuckling into his pillow. “Only sometimes?”

“Put it this way.” Zevran let out an exasperated sigh. “You are more… trusting than a newborn puppy, to lie completely naked before an Antivan Crow. My other marks can hardly be blamed, since they were not aware of that fact. But you were. Yet you slept by my side, with both eyes closed, that night.”

Theron knew exactly which night he meant. It had taken an incredible amount of trust. Trust the assassin was astounded the Warden would place anywhere near him, given that he had been tasked with ensuring he would not live to see another day. It was not so long since he’d tried to kill him, after all.

“Perhaps the word should be foolish, instead?” The Warden replied, his eyes alight with mirth as he turned to gaze back at his companion. Theron could laugh at himself, now, in hindsight. “Let’s just say I had faith in you.” And before Zevran could show any skepticism, he continued, “Besides, Elgara slept outside my tent every night. Even if you had succeeded in your mission, you could not have left that camp alive.”

Zevran snorted. “Ah, so it is your hound you have faith in, then.”

Theron wriggled out from under the assassin, sitting up to look at him properly now, his grey eyes as serious as a storm. Zevran retreated, until they were no longer touching, giving the Warden a polite amount of space while he tugged the sleeves of his dressing gown on again.

“It was not hard to see that your ambush was little more than a theatrical display,” said the archer. Theron had an eye for strategy in battle, and could orchestrate victory with ease. That assassination attempt must have looked so clumsy, so amateurish. “If an Antivan Crow truly wanted me dead, it could have been in my sleep. Or an unseen arrow from afar. It was quite a fair fight, really.”

Zevran chuckled. “In my defense, I did not account for the dwarven creature of living rock you had as a bodyguard.”

“You could have done so many things to kill me since the day we met. You could have made it look like an accident, if you let me fall in combat. But you have not.” Theron sighed, a heavy exhale. “I knew your motives were not as simple as they seemed. And I was right. After that, the probability that you would betray me in my sleep had dropped quite significantly.”

“Reckless,” the assassin insisted, shaking his head.

“Calculated risk,” Theron corrected.

Always calculating in his head, be it the trajectories of arrows or the political machinations of Ferelden’s nobles. But he was right, and the assassin knew it to be true. The Warden was looking a little too smug about it, though. It was infuriating Zevran slightly.

“Still, I could have been lying!” the  assassin protested.

The Dalish elf was smiling maddeningly. “But you were not.”

“And what if I had? Foolish is right,” Zevran muttered, looking away at anything but the other elf. Zevran was almost angry at him. He could have been killed, and death would have been swift. Did he not take his own safety seriously? Did he not know what he meant to Zevran, to their band of outcasts, to Ferelden? If he died, the number of Grey Wardens left in this nation would be halved. And Alistair, who was hardly a natural born leader, could not save the entire nation on his own, that much he knew.

Theron shrugged, waving expressive hands. The Dalish did so like to talk with their hands, Zevran noticed. “Love makes fools of us all, then.”

“You do not love me,” was the assassin’s knee-jerk reaction, then regretted it the instant it left his mouth, averting his eyes from the Warden. Zevran had said that out of clumsy fear, fear of the terrifying ordeal of being known, truly known. Fear was unbecoming for a Crow. All his life had been mask after mask. But even the most skilled actors tired of the charade.

But Theron understood. He pressed the gentle touch of his fingertips to the assassin’s cheek. “ _Ma vhenan._ You are not unlovable.”

Zevran took the archer’s bow-calloused hand in his, drawing it away from his face, but he did not let go of it.

“You are deserving of love, you know.” Theron gave the other elf’s hand a comforting squeeze, rubbing a thumb over the back of it.

“I am not so certain, but you seem to be,” was all Zevran would concede, with downcast eyes and a small smile that was heavy to carry. “You are our fearless leader, after all.”

Theron lay back against the mountain of pillows stacked behind him, tugging at Zevran’s hand as an invitation to join him. He had been given permission, but the Antivan elf still lay beside him with disquiet in his heart.

Though, it was hard to be troubled when such a vision of loveliness was before him - his Warden, soft skin freshly oiled and smelling of sweet Antivan spices, his silk dressing gown draped around his arms. Somehow, his quicksilver hair had escaped its tie, trailing like rivers of mercury down his exposed chest. Zevran could die a happy man, just staring at this.

“Come closer, _vhenan,_ ” Theron murmured, soft and reassuring as if speaking to a skittish halla, as he coaxed the assassin between his legs.

What a gift he had been given, he thought. With one hand, Zevran cradled his Warden’s face, nudging their foreheads together before finally leaning in to kiss him, soft and chaste. Theron always kissed like he was new, sweet as honey and almost shy, making appreciative noises into his mouth, that Zevran could feel more than hear.

He moved down to press small, featherlight kisses to the Warden’s pale neck, tentative at first, growing more heated as he realised just how much he had been longing for this. The quiet in the room was punctuated with soft little moans, as Theron shook from the attentions he received from his lover, head tilted to one side. It was still a pleasant surprise, how Theron would shiver if he trailed the tip of his tongue all the way up to the other’s jaw. Zevran’s teeth ached with wanting him, as he sank them into the other elf’s collarbone.

It was Theron who broke the silence, while Zevran was busy leaving kisses all over his chest. “We are in a bed, for once,” he pointed out with an affectionate smile, brushing back the loose golden locks of Zevran’s hair away from his face. “Let us cherish it, hm?”

“Indeed. Shall we put to the test the structural capabilities of this bed with a rousing bout of lovemaking?” he asked Theron in a low, dark whisper beside the other elf’s ear, and his grin grew wider still when the archer shuddered and stifled a whimper. Theron let out a sharp exhale, as the assassin continued to tease his chest with his mouth, and now those teeth were toying with one rosy nipple. The archer’s attempt to clamp his thighs together to hide his arousal was in vain, of course, with Zevran’s hands on the inside of them.

“I want you to…” Theron trailed off, as the assassin tossed his tunic carelessly behind him. The Warden’s cheeks were turning pink again, his gaze hastily directed elsewhere. “You mentioned it, during that night, but we’ve never…”

It took a while to decipher what Theron meant. “Ah. You are referring to a particular Antivan vice, I think.” Zevran’s smirk was unbearable now, as Theron turned beet red in the face. “But, just to be clear, I think you should tell me. Communication is very important in these situations, you know.”

“ _Vhenan_ ,” Theron groaned in embarrassment and arousal. “I want you to make love to me. With your fingers, your tongue, and… more,” he added in a mutter, still unable to look his lover in the eye. Zevran tipped Theron’s chin up with his fingers to meet his wicked leer.

“More, eh? I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

A pale hand dragged past his belly, and Theron squeezed long fingers around his half-hard cock, through his trousers. Zevran let out a delighted, breathless moan.

“Is this specific enough for you?” snickered the Dalish elf.

“Indeed,” Zevran chuckled. “You would give yourself to me like this, my Warden?” he asked with a reverent murmur, nuzzling just under the other’s ear. “Your first time with a lover?”

“My body is safe with yours, _vhenan._ ” With a fond expression, Theron cupped a hand over the assassin’s painted cheek. “Just as your heart is safe with mine.”

“You Dalish have such a pretty way with words.” Zevran leaned in to kiss his lover’s smiling mouth. “I would be honoured, _amore._ ”

It was just as well they were not doing this in the camp. Losing your virginity was less fun in a tent, and he’d wanted Theron’s first time to be as comfortable as possible. But now the Warden was nestled amongst the many cushions, legs spread to accommodate his lover. The sash of the dressing gown came apart like a bow on a present. Zevran trailed his fingertips over Theron’s cock, already hard, down to his hole, making the archer twitch and whimper. The Dalish elf was so pretty here, and Zevran told him so, making the blush on his lover’s face deepen even more, as he shifted down to pepper Theron’s thighs with kisses and occasional nips.

The same bottle of oil he had used to massage the Warden with would come in handy now. Thank the Maker it was edible, as well. Zevran drizzled it over his fingers with a lazy grin, before rubbing them against Theron’s hole, teasing the entrance, and heard a breathy little moan in return.

“I’ve never done this before,” Theron blurted out.

The assassin paused to look up in surprise. “Not even by yourself?”

“I didn’t get very far,” Theron admitted, shamefaced. He had tried once, alone in his _aravel_ , trying to wet two fingers in his mouth. But he had been young and inexperienced, and it wasn’t like you could ask the Keeper or _hahren_ Paivel about things like this. He hadn’t figured out oil, for one thing.

“Never fear, my Warden.” The Antivan smiled as reassuringly as he could and patted the archer’s thigh. “You are in good hands.”

The Grey Warden bit his lip as Zevran slid one slick finger inside his hole, ever so slowly. A new sensation, almost like another strange massage, Theron thought. But he was as tense as his current state of mind.

Zevran bent to kiss the inside of his companion’s knee. “Relax, my sweet. You are more taut than one of your bowstrings.”

Deep breaths. Theron lay back, trying to forget his self-consciousness. Strange, that lovely, tingling warmth was back, its effect more pronounced down here, easing the way as it relaxed him further.

“More,” he asked in a hoarse voice. “Please?”

Zevran worked two fingers in and out him now, so so careful with him, as he bathed him inside and out with oil. The first time Zevran pressed them all the way in, Theron gasped his name and clutched at the assassin’s shoulder.

“Good?” Zevran tilted his head, as he looked up at Theron. His bedmate could barely nod his approval, back curved into an arch and wordlessly begging for more. The assassin chuckled, mostly to himself, as he opened Theron up with gradual strokes, fucking him with his fingers steadily.

Then Zevran bowed his head, and Theron felt a hot, wet tongue pierce into him, slipping in beside the assassin’s fingers. He howled with pleasure, head thrown back against the pillows. It was a good thing these walls were made of stone.

“Zevran,” he moaned weakly, as his lover’s tongue licked into him, between scissored fingers. “Zevran, please.”

What Theron was pleading for, he had no idea. All sense had left him by now. If he had looked down, he would have seen Zevran grinning, despite his mouth being occupied.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Theron groaned and rolled his eyes. _Fen’Harel_ had a sick sense of humour today.

“It’s only me,” came his fellow Grey Warden’s voice from outside his door. Theron couldn’t answer, for his lover’s fingers and mouth were still busy, despite the fact that Alistair was about eight feet away. He didn’t trust his mouth to open without spilling out loud moans.

“We’re just going to the Gnawed Noble for a drink, you coming?”

Theron writhed against the sheets, his hips bucking in desperation, but it only made Zevran press into him deeper. He clapped a hand over his mouth to cover a whimper that threatened to leave his lips. He looked down at Zevran. The hungry look in the Antivan’s smouldering eyes made him squirm even more. To his horror, he was discovering that being watched like that only made him harder.

 _Oh, Creators, help me,_ he thought, gripping the sheets tight, as Zevran’s tongue did something truly wicked inside him. After a long pause, he tried to speak at last.

“Go away,” Theron called back, hoping his voice wasn’t cracking too much. “I’m tired.”

“All right then, grumpy,” Alistair answered, his tone placating. “Have a nap. We’ll be back later.”

The Warden could have cried with relief once Alistair’s footsteps had faded from elvhen earshot. “You evil, evil man,” Theron panted, close to tears. A fierce ache throbbed inside him, his arousal eating at him until he was clawing at the sheets. He felt as though on the dangerous edge of a precipice, and he wanted so badly to fall, but not yet.

“Wait,” gasped Theron. Zevran stopped, withdrawing to fix his lover with a look of concern. “I was about to come.”

The rogue’s expression turned mischievous. “That is the point of all this, no?”

Theron shook his head. “I wanted to do it while… while you filled me.” His face was red hot, like a newly forged sword. He did not think he had ever blushed this hard in his life, though it was making Zevran smile like a skull.

“Your wish is my command, dear Warden.”

He cried out in dismay, when he felt those clever fingers leave him, but Zevran climbed up to soothe him with kisses that Theron could pour all his aching want into, dragging the assassin’s sweat-slick skin against his. Theron could feel how hard the assassin was, heavy between his legs, as their hips pressed tight together.

Zevran pulled back, ridding himself of his trousers with more haste than he'd like, but the striptease could wait for another time. He coated his hand in more oil, and Theron watched, mouth agape as he stroked it over his cock. How would that ever fit inside him? But his desire won out over his trepidation, as he stared at the tantalising sight. He would go mad with lust, if he did not have this.

“Zevran, I need you inside me now,” Theron whispered.

He could not deny his Warden. Zevran eased the head of his cock inside Theron, surging in deep, slow to the point of madness. The sensation of being filled choked the archer speechless, with how good it felt. That first sweet slide of friction was driving him crazy, until finally, Zevran was fully seated in him.

“Oh, Maker’s breath, you feel incredible,” Zevran growled, dropping his forehead against the archer’s for respite. His wits were quickly leaving him. “Does it hurt, _amore_?”

Theron shook his head. He had never been stretched from the inside out quite like this. No pain, but the sensation overwhelmed him. Deep breaths, he reminded himself.

“Just a moment, please? It feels so… much.”

“Of course.” Zevran leaned up to kiss his cheek. He would wait as long as Theron wanted, even if it tested every ounce of his self-control.

Curious, Theron drifted his fingertips between his legs, to where they were joined. His eyes went wide in surprise, that all of Zevran had fitted within him. Zevran chuckled darkly.

“Look how well you are taking my cock. How does it feel, my sweet?”

“So full,” Theron breathed, rolling his hips back experimentally and whimpering when he could feel just how deep inside him his lover was. His nails were sunk into the sheets, his brow furrowed with the will it was taking not to just come there and then. “Please, take me,” he begged, the ends of his nerves frayed and straining.

“ _Ma nuvenin,_ my Warden.”

Zevran pulled out, hands clutched tight at the archer’s hipbones, only to thrust deep inside him again, making them both cry out. Theron’s legs were wrapped around him, as he fucked him with long, deliberate strokes, careful not to hurt Theron even if it was sweet torture. His lover was new, and Zevran wanted his first time to be memorable for the right reasons.

“ _Braska,_ ” the Antivan swore. His lover was wonderfully tight, and it was taking all his willpower not to find his release. “Oh, my dear Warden, you look so good like this.”

He trailed a hand down the other elf’s chest, down his belly to where he was leaking so much, had been ever since Zevran had introduced his tongue into him. Zevran wrapped his fingers around Theron’s neglected cock. The other rogue let out a strangled cry, bucking up into his lover’s hand in desperate little thrusts, painfully hard now.

“For the love of _Elgar’nan_ , please, I have to come!” cried Theron.

Zevran’s grin was shaky, as he fucked Theron with deep, steady strokes, his fingers moving in time on the archer’s cock. Each thrust struck Theron in just the right place, and he knew it by how vocal the archer was being.

“Then come for me, _amore_.”

Theron could only cling to the other elf, nails dragging red gouges down Zevran’s back even as the assassin hissed in pleasure. His eyes were blown wide, mouth dropping open in shock at the exquisite pleasure coursing through his nerves as he came, sobbing his lover’s name, coming so hard that his chest was painted in white. It was a sight too tempting to resist. Zevran fucked him a little faster, a little rougher, and with a broken groan, came inside his lover, harder than he’d done in a long time.

Wracked with pleasure as they were, it was much too long before either of them could move. Theron let out a pathetic whine, when his lover pulled out of him, then giggled. Zevran bent down to kiss the breathless laughter from his lips.

“Stay there, my sweet.”

This time, Zevran was the first to rise from their bed to fetch a damp cloth from the bath, to clean them up with. Theron giggled harder as the other elf rubbed it over his torso, scratchy and wet, tickling his belly. Then it was flung away into a corner, forgotten, for Zevran was too eager to be in his companion’s arms. He collapsed back into bed, next to Theron, with a happy sigh.

“I trust that was to your satisfaction, my Warden?”

“It was.” Theron dropped a light kiss onto his nose. “I am now officially deflowered.”

The assassin snorted. “Is that what the Dalish call it? You certainly are a poetic lot.” But it made him smile all the same. “I suppose it’s better than ‘maidenhood’.”

Theron pulled the assassin into his chest, and held him there. “Thank you, _vhenan_. You are so good to me.”

“You are thanking me?” The assassin stared up at his Warden in incredulity, from where his head rested on the other elf’s chest. “You know, in Antiva, virgins are prized for their rarity. I should be expressing my gratitude on bended knee for this privilege instead.”

“That won't be necessary.” The Warden cackled. “Well, if you’re going to kill me, you can do it now.” He yawned, stretching out on the bed like a cat. His body was nicely limp, flooded with the delightful, warm glow of post-orgasmic bliss. “I feel fantastic.”

Zevran laughed, wrapping an arm around the archer’s waist. Theron could feel the sound reverberate through them both.

“Ah, but then how will I introduce you to the pleasures of morning sex?”

“After that, then.” Theron grinned back. “I’m sure the other Antivan Crows would understand.”

The Dalish elf’s hand toyed with Zevran’s hair, letting the silky strands swirl through his fingers, while his lover curled up on him like a large housecat.

“You know, you slept beside _me_ with both eyes closed that night, too,” Theron mused. The assassin made a sleepy noise of confusion, peering blearily up at him. “You have heard tales of how ruthless the Dalish can be, have you not, my love?” continued the elf airily, with an impish smirk.

And Zevran had. If anything, the tribes in Ferelden were far worse than the Antivan ones, who seemed like forest-prancing fairies in comparison. His drowsiness dissipated as he gazed at his beloved, and possibly for the first time, realised he’d underestimated just how terrifying the Warden could be.

Although, if he was being honest, it was quite the turn-on. Dangerous men were just so attractive.

“Well, mark me down as scared _and_ horny,” Zevran said to himself, _sotto voce,_ as a whole new world of possibilities opened up in his head. But for now, he had promised the archer a restful night. He brushed a light kiss to his beloved’s cheek, who was already drifting off.

“Sleep well, _amore_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Do you hear that? That's the sound of Bottom! Zevran getting ideas. After all, he does like being tied up and manhandled.


End file.
